


In These Days of Mine

by Emoryems



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Child Abuse, Drunk Sex, Explicit Language, F/M, Female Daryl, Gen, Genderswap, Sexism, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2309075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emoryems/pseuds/Emoryems
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl doesn't have a thing to prove.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This happened. It wasn't supposed to, as I should be writing my thesis and whatnot, but it did. And so it shall continue. 
> 
> This will focus on a female Daryl Dixon, following her through the series, and exploring how she goes through the events of The Walking Dead. This is my first crack at TWD fic, and so I may take a while to find character voices. Please, please let me know if you are enjoying this. It gives me the courage to continue, especially in a new fandom.
> 
> Unknown as to whether there will be a pairing, and additional warnings will be added if needed.

“Where you goin’?”

Daryl glances behind her to the opening of her tent where Merle is leaning inside, muddy boots stepping on the bottom zipper.

She ignores him, turning back to her bag and checking that everything is there. Water, a single protein bar, extra ammo for her pistol, and her bolt repair kit. Not much, but all she needs.

Merle moves further into the tent, coming to stand behind her. “I asked you a question,” Merle says, eyes narrowed.

“Didn’t get nothin’ yesterday, and we ain’t got meat to last another day,” she says, standing and strapping her buck knife to her hip. “There’s sign of some whitetail hunkerin’ not far to our east.” She picks up her crossbow last, relishing the weight of it in her hand. “I’ll be back before tomorrow night.”

When she tries to move around Merle, he blocks her exit. “We got that run to Atlanta today,” he says. “You just gonna up and leave me with those pussies?”

Daryl raises her brows, unimpressed. “You need me to hold your hand there, brother? Them city-folk too much for you to handle?”

Merle’s lips twist into a scowl. “I’ll handle them just fine.”

“Then let me by.” She steps forward, shoving her shoulder into Merle’s, making her brother shift. She is halfway out the tent when Merle grabs her in a strong hold, both of his hands tight on her upper arms.

“You better watch your tone, girl,” Merle says. His hands tighten further. “I think you should stop tryin’ to act all butch-like. Ain’t no time to be putting on a show, like you got yourself some big balls between your legs there.”

Daryl doesn’t try to pull out of Merle’s grip, and she can feel her chest tightening with anger and something else, something she doesn’t want to think about. “I don’t see you goin’ out, bringin’ back no food.”

“And if you didn’t give all of our food away to everyone around, we could be focusing on what we’re here for, instead of worrying about our next meal.” Merle’s voice lowers, his face lowering so he’s nearly level with her. “You do remember what that is?”

A fission of guilt and rage bursts in Daryl’s chest, and she lifts her hands up and twists her arms outward, breaking her brothers’ hold. “I’m goin’.” With that, she strides away.

“Why don’t you go wash some dishes there Darylina,” Merle yells after her. “Make yourself useful for once. Not like you’re doin’ any good out there.”

Daryl doesn’t bother even stopping, lazily flipping her brother the bird as she swings her crossbow to rest across her back. “Go fuck yourself, Merle,” she says, slipping into the trees and out of sight.

She knows that Merle is being glared at by Andrea, and that Shane is shaking his head from where he is reinforcing the fences around their camp. They can deal with her brother until she gets back from this hunt; she’d rather they put up with his bored harassment than see what happens when she finally punches the dumb bastard in his over-used mouth.

Her eyes follow the forest floor easily, trailing over a small game trail heading for the water behind, but she isn’t looking for little game today. She’s seen fresh deer scat just over the next ridge, and had spotted some areas where the animals had been bedding down. Now, in the heat of the day, she hopes to find them there.

Merle’s words follow her, though, pulling down her shoulders and her thoughts. He is right about one thing; she hasn’t gotten more than a couple of squirrels, and two rabbits in the last two hunts. Not enough to feed her for a couple of days, much less a camp full of people.

But she doesn’t have the luxury of giving up. She never has.

That evening, as the sun reaches its last lingering rays over the western sky, Daryl sighs and strings one last squirrel onto the line, then wanders to where she thinks is best to see deer in the morning.

There is a large tree, one with big branches that are high enough up to hide her from sight, but not too high to climb. A good place to spend a night, and then start anew at dawn.

The next morning she is propped in the groove where two branches diverge eight feet up, her crossbow balanced on her knees. There is tall grass all around the small clearing she is watching, the trees providing shade and allowing only a small bit of sunlight to dapple the ground.

Her eyes have tracked a few pheasants passing through since sunup, but she doesn’t act. There is bigger fair out there, she knows it, and she isn’t going back to camp without a deer dragging in her wake.

She is about to shift, her ass having gone numb long ago, when a squirrel to her left and behind kicks up a fuss, chattering away at something. Her grip tightens, and she leans forward enough that she can see to the side.

Nothing that she can see between the trees and bush, but something is there, and now she can hear leaves crunching, and a low, groaning breath. A walker.

Heartrate picking up, Daryl shifts just enough that she is turned toward the noise. She brings the crossbow up just in time for the walker to come into sight, and she takes careful aim. The thing isn’t coming her way, is in fact a good eighty feet out and heading away from where they have set up camp.

Biting her lip, she debates going after it. But then, watching as the rotten body shuffles away, decides it’s not worth it. It’s not headed for camp, and she risks kicking up a commotion by chasing it down. Better to let it wander off.

Settling back down between the branches, she lets her chin drop to her chest. She’s never seen a walker up this far into the mountains. They’ve mostly stuck to the cities, where most of the people are. Were.

They might be needing better fences.

Another noise to her left has her crossbow up and her eyes scanning the forest. The squirrel isn’t nattering away this time, leaving the forest quiet except for the sound of an occasional bird. But there, again, a hint of a noise.

Crossbow up and ready, Daryl’s eyes catch sight of movement. Something brown passes slow behind some trees, heading in her way. She smiles a little, unconsciously.

Ten minutes later, her finger tightens on the trigger and her bolt flies true. A good hit to the deer’s neck leaves a trail of thick blood for her to track as it runs; there’s a lot, and she knows the animal won’t go far.

Grabbing the rope with the squirrels and throwing it over her shoulder, Daryl drops to the ground, feet light and fast as she follows her prey.

It is only by some stroke of rare luck that she finds herself tracking her deer back in the way of camp. Field dressing and dragging the animal back will be easier this way, and she will be able to butcher the meat and get it out of the hot Georgian summer heat faster.

A half hour later and the blood trail is getting weaker, and she can see where the whitetail has laid down at least once in exhaustion. It won’t be long, now.

She is just beyond the edge of the camp when she hears a ‘thud’, and a soft huffing that soon dissipates into silence. She can see where the deer collapsed, and is a mere twenty feet away when she hears a scream.

Instantly she is up and running, crossbow loaded and ready. As she gets closer she can see the boy, Carl, and the little girl, Sophia, scrambling away as a walker lunges at them. She doesn’t think, doesn’t have time to do anything else; she lines up the shot and pulls the trigger. Her bolt misses by barely an inch, imbedding itself in the walker’s neck.

Swearing, knowing she doesn’t have time to reload, she pulls her knife from its sheath and runs at the walker. The thing is too busy going for the children to turn on her, and she uses that distraction to grab the thing by its hair and bury her blade into its cranium.

The walker drops to the ground, and she finds herself with a handful of brown-grey hair and skin as the scalp pulls away from bone.

As she stares down at the walker, she can hear voices and the sound of feet trampling the ground. Carl and Sophia are sobbing, and as their parents descend upon them, Daryl watches the children run into their arms.

Lori is frantically checking that Carl is in one piece, looking over his limbs, and smoothing down his hair. Sophia is similarly in her mother’s arms. Shane, Jim, Glenn, Morales, and Dale aren’t much further behind, all of them coming to stand in a semi-circle around the downed walker.

As they settle, Daryl notices an unfamiliar face. The man is lanky, with short brown hair and brilliantly blue eyes.

Shrugging off the new addition to their group, she leans down, feeling their eyes on her, and with one hand tugs the blade from the walker’s head. Her other hand is wiped crudely in the dirt and grass, leaving behind clumps of hair and skin.

When she is upright again, having sheathed her blade, Daryl looks from face to face. “What? Y’all got a problem?”

Dale shifts his stance, staring at the walker. “They’ve never been this far up the mountain,” he says.

Jim nods. “Food’s running low in the cities, is my guess.”

Daryl nods to herself, then jerks her chin at the walker. “Just this one bastard, from what I’ve seen.” She shrugs when they look to her. “Went by me a few hours ago.”

She is about to head for the deer, to start gutting the animal, when Shane strides up to her.

“You knew a walker was this close to the camp, and you just let it be?” he says, voice tight and lips tighter.

Taking a step back without thought, Daryl feels anger at the man’s invasion of her space. “It weren’t headed this way, man.”

“Obviously it was.” Shane huffs.

Daryl looks back at the walker. He’s right, but she doesn’t feel the need to reassess her decision. The damn thing had been headed in the other direction. “It’s taken care of,” she says, shrugging.

She shifts the squirrels higher on her shoulder and turns away from Shane, intent on getting to work. She doesn’t get far before a hand grabs her shoulder.

“We’re not done –“

Spinning around, Daryl smacks Shane’s hand away with enough force that she knows they’ll both be sporting a bruise. She is quick to bring the hand back up, finger pointing into Shane’s surprised face. “You do not touch me.”

Shane opens his mouth, eyebrows knotted angrily.

“Shane.”

Daryl sees the new guy, white shirt too big and spotted with blood. He joins them, hand coming up to rest on Shane’s shoulder. “Let it go,” he says.

Daryl growls under her breath. She can fight her own damn battles.

But right now, she’s tired and just wants to get on with the deer; venison for dinner sounds just right. Seeing all of the faces, Glenn and Andrea there in the group still hanging back, she knows exactly what to do. Her lazy-ass brother was back from the run, and he had better be ready to help her, or she was going to kick the ugly bastard in the balls.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really short update today, but I've been really busy with RL, so it'll have to do. I'm not going to be following through the entire show, scene for scene. Rather, this will go through some of the scenes from the show, but also will diverge and expand from it as well. Pairings for the next chapters will be ephemeral (in the case of Daryl), though I do have some minor romance in mind for later. 
> 
> Cheers!

Camp is quiet as Daryl strides toward the centre of it, and even as she calls for Merle to get his fool ass out and help her, the hair on the back of her neck stands up. The others in their group are giving her a wide berth, wary as they watch her put the line of squirrels down. The air suddenly feels heavy in her lungs, and the sun beats down oppressively.

“What?” she says, demandingly, staring each and every one of them down. “What y’all staring at?”

Shane walks forward first, his hands out beside him, placating. “Now Daryl, there’s been an incident.”

“Merle?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” says Shane. His eyes meet hers for a moment, then he glances away as though ashamed.

There is a vice gripping her throat, and it’s hard to breathe as her stomach turns to lead. “Dead?” she says, almost to herself, and then, “you put him down proper?” She almost doesn’t want an answer to that. Because what if her brother is walking around with those sightless eyes and endless hunger, all of him lost to the infection except a meat puppet?

“He ain’t dead.” New guy, this time. “Or at least we don’t think so.”

A flame, so small it wouldn’t stand a flap of a butterfly’s wings, lights in her gut. It’s hope, and she squishes it down. Hope ain’t never been her friend, and it isn’t going to start now. What she needs now is to fix this fucking gongshow and get her brother back.

“Where is he, then? He hurt?”

T-Dog takes a single, hesitant, step forward and says, “He’s still in Atlanta.”

Gritting her teeth, frustrated and ready to punch the next person who gives a half-answer, Daryl clenches her fists. “You left him behind?”

She sees more than one of the group cringe, but it’s T-Dog who looks like he might puke down his own front.

“He’s handcuffed to a pipe on a roof.” The new guy looks her in the eyes as he says it, plain and simple. “I had to do it; he was a danger to every one of us.”

The urge to curl up and push the world away wars with the blinding fury that settles like a hurricane in her chest. It’s the rage that wins, as it always does, and she doesn’t give the asshole who stranded her brother the time to even try to block her as she lashes out, catching the man with a solid punch to his mouth. She feels her knuckles tear on his teeth, but doesn’t care beyond inflicting as much damage as possible.

Before she even lands a second hit, or can get her knife unholstered, however, Shane has grabbed her from behind, arm wrapped around her shoulders and pinning her arms. His entire body is pressed to her back, and as she struggles against his hold, wave after wave of nausea and rage surge under her skin.

“You’d better let me go,” she growls out. “I will fucking cut your dick off and shove it down your throat.” The jackass is lowering her to the ground, grip so tight she can feel tingling in her fingers as her circulation is cut off. Good thing for him, she thinks, because the second he lets up she’s going to gut him.

The new guy is wiping blood from his chin, and she wishes she had hit hard enough to knock a few of his teeth out. Struggling against the hold, Daryl manages to get enough movement in her right arm to drive an elbow into Shane’s gut. The hit is good enough that she feels the man’s exhale of breath against her hair, and it gives her the advantage to shove her shoulders back, pushing both of them over backward.

“Goddamn it,” Shane yells as they hit the dirt, Daryl partially on top of his legs. He’s quick, probably because of his cop training, and he manages to wrap an arm around her neck in a chokehold before she can wriggle out of his grasp.

The solid arm around her neck instantly cuts blood flow to her head, and it’s less than ten seconds before her face is burning, and she can hear her heart’s every wild thud like it is inside her eardrums. It’s not until Shane tightens his arm enough to start cutting off her breathing, too, that Daryl stops struggling.

She can’t see much, what with her hair hanging limply over her eyes and her head forced down, except for the cloud of settling dust that has been kicked up by the struggle.

“Now,” new guy says, crouching down in front of her, “you gonna calm down?”

Daryl wants to spit in his face, kick dirt in his eyes, rip him to pieces. But she can see T-Dog, Andrea, Glen, all of the group gathered around. What good would it do? When she finally nods, just the barest of movements, black has started to frame her vision.

Shane releases her all at once, and she’s suddenly on her knees gasping for breath. Looking up as her breathing settles, Daryl sneers at the new guy. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“Rick Grimes,” he says.

Scoffing, Daryl pushes herself to her feet, eyeing Shane warily, and grabs her crossbow, then points at Rick’s face. “Well Rick Grimes, you’d better watch your back.”  

Rick sighs and wipes a hand over his face, wincing as he brushes over the fresh split in his lip. “I didn’t do what I did on some sort of whim,” he says. “It was for all of our safety.” He looks at her pointedly. “Including Merle’s.”

“Right,” she says, once again pacing. “So why the fuck is he still up there?”

T-Dog clears his throat and moves just a few steps closer. “I lost the key to the cuffs.”

A laugh rips out of Daryl, unbidden and harsh. “That’s just wonderful. Good job, asshole. Why the hell didn’t you find it?”

T-Dog shrugs, eyes falling away from hers. “It fell down a drain.”

Pursing her lips, shaking with adrenalin and ready to fight anyone who even looks at her next, Daryl focuses back on Rick, and says, “Which building?”

Rick raises one eyebrow at her, like he didn’t understand her question, and it sets her off again. “What fucking building did you leash my brother to, dipshit,” she asks, this time letting her legs carry her so she’s staring the man in the eyes.

“The old Norfolk Southern building on Spring Street, near the rail yard.”

She pivots without a word, determination in her every movement as she strides to where they have parked the cube van.

“Hey, wait!”

Daryl ignores the protests she hears from behind as she hops into the open back and slams the rolling door closed behind her. She curses when the driver door is flung open before she can get there, then deposits her crossbow in the passenger seat and glares down at Rick.

“Get out,” she says. When he stares hard at her for a minute, she snarls. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

“You plannin’ to go alone?” Rick has his head tipped to the side, eyes staring hard into hers.

“If I gotta,” she says.

Rick nods his head sharply. “Well you don’t.” And then he walks away, back to camp.

Daryl shakes her head in disbelief. What was the point of that? “Asshole,” she calls out the window as she slams the driver door shut, starts up the vehicle, and throws it into reverse.

She’s about to pull away from camp, hand on the shift, when a loud knock on the passenger window sounds. Rick is standing there, a pair of bolt cutters held up just about as high as his eyebrows.

Rick opens the door, picks up her crossbow and puts it in the middle between the seats. “Not goin’ to get very far without these,” he says. And then he settles into the passenger seat and shuts the door behind him.

Daryl would like nothing more than to punch him in the mouth again, except that she can admit, albeit only to herself, that he is right.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This happened. Please note the change in rating, and the new warnings. This has been planned since I started this fic, and plays into this conception of fem!Daryl. Shane/Daryl is not a main focus of this fic; please keep that in mind. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: sex wherein both partners having been drinking, somewhat bad!sex.

They don’t find Merle on that rooftop. Well – they don’t find most of Merle, in any case. Daryl has her brother’s hand in a rucksack slung over her shoulder alongside her crossbow when they arrive back at camp to disaster.

She watches Andrea, hair streaked gold in the early morning light, sit with her sister and wait. She doesn’t say anything, even though she’d fought the urge to put a bolt in Amy’s head for the past few hours; instead she evaluates what they’ve lost, what they haven’t. That second category is getting pretty empty these days.

There is a hollowness, like a raw, sucking wound, where Merle should be. It’s there, a constant gnawing ache, as she packs up everything that she can that belongs to her and her brother, as she runs a hand over the seat of Merle’s bike. But she’s got to keep moving, get the things that need doing, done.

When the dead are buried, and the quarry is but a distant vision in their rear-view mirrors, Daryl sticks her arm out the window of her truck, just to feel the air brush over her skin, the sun turning her arm hair golden blonde.

They are headed for the CDC with desperate hope. Daryl doesn’t know if what she feels is hope, but this is a better chance than anything else she can think of at the moment.

…

The wine was a bad idea. Alcohol has always made her blood flow fast and hot with want; the air in her lungs swirling about, her head swimming, and most of all the throbs and zings of pleasure thrumming through her nipples and clit. Her inner walls clench lazily, wantonly, and a warm trickle of fluid wets her underwear.

Too long has she shared close-quarters with too many people. No privacy except in the middle of the woods, where at any minute a walker could wander by. In the relative security of the CDC Daryl has finally found a place to relax, if only a little bit, and her body knows what it wants. And there is a room with a door, a bed, a shower, that sounds just perfect. And as much as she would love to feel the warm stretch of a cock in her, she isn’t going to complain about the opportunity to take care of her needs with her own two hands.

Nearly everyone else has gone off to test out the hot water, leaving herself and Glenn in the commissary with the empty bottles of wine and food dishes scattered about. With one last swig, in the process finishing off the bottle of cloyingly deep-bodied red wine, Daryl saunters over to the little stash of bottles on the other side of the counter. A squat bottle catchers her attention, and she plucks it up, admiring the label. A little bourbon to soothe her soul.

With a careless salute, Daryl slips out of the commissary, ignores Glenn’s question as she passes him by, and heads out. She would catch a finger in his shirt and drag him along with her, but the kid is too soft, too focused; she doesn’t need devotion right now. She needs a good fuck, to laze in the haze of a hard-won orgasm and feel her mind soften into sleep from there.

The long halls of the CDC’s basement seemed to go on forever. Maybe it was the bottle of wine she’d downed, or maybe the fact that she was thinking about the shower that awaited her in the room she’d picked, but it took all too long to make it there. The call of hot water, the thought of it sluicing over her breasts and between her legs, had her lengthening and quickening her steps, feet moving near soundless over the tiled floor.

The sound of a door slamming open had Daryl swinging around mid-step with just a little sway in her stance, head spinning with wine. Shane stumbled his way out of a room she’d passed, and Daryl tensed automatically as the man began stomping in her direction. There are scratch marks on his neck, and a tension in his frame that she’s seen more and more these days. His face is pale, and his eyes are dim.

It takes until he’s less than three feet from brushing past her for his eyes to snap up, focusing on her lips, then dragging up to her eyes. Daryl can smell his freshly showered skin, and knows he can probably smell her too; they are close enough that she can see a beading of sweat at his temples, and can imagine the heat radiating from his chest.

Daryl might not like the guy, in fact she could probably dredge up her fair share of revulsion if she were of the mind to, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t scratch an itch. And it looks to her like he is thinking the exact same thing, the way his eyes are now roving lower, to where her shirt has slipped up, her taut stomach peeking out.

Decision made, she swings the bottle in her hand up into view, finger tips purposefully grazing the long neck. “I got a whole ‘nother bottle, if you’re looking for some,” she says. Then, with a quirk of her eyebrow, she takes up her steps again.

She doesn’t check behind her when she gets to the room she chose, just swings the door open, glances around the simple space, and walks inside. The door to the bathroom is wide open, and she has a clear line-of-sight into the shower.

It takes a little work, but she gets the bottle of bourbon open, then takes a long swallow, eyes closing and throat working hard. It’s been far too long since she’s felt such a good, clean burn.

As she turns her attention to pulling her leather vest off, followed quickly by undoing her belt, she notes with just a hint of disappointment that she is still alone. Shrugging, she pops the button of her jeans, thumb brushing over the skin of her navel, and starts to work the zipper tab downward.

Maybe she should have dragged Glenn along.

But then a soft noise has her ears perking, and she turns her head to look over her shoulder at the form filling her doorway. With just a hint of a smirk playing at her lips, she faces him, simultaneously tugging down her zipper the rest of the way and letting her jean slither over her skin as they fall to the floor.

Shane’s eyes draw a path from her bared arms, over the stained muscle shirt, and pause at her groin, where Daryl knows the man can see the damp spot growing on her underwear. He sucks in a sharp breath, then comes fully into the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Daryl passes him the bottle of bourbon, licks her own lips as he drinks, then reaches up and pushes the blue unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders. Without stopping, she unbuckles his belt and pants.

Shane is motionless, muscles twitching under her fingers, thighs spread wide enough that the material of his pants won’t fall past the swell of his ass. His cock is obvious, a thick line under the material, and Daryl wants it in her mouth, wants to drop to her knees and feel the heavy weight of it on her tongue.

So she does just that. As her knees hit the floor, she slides her hands up Shane’s thighs and gets a hold of the pockets of his pants. When he still doesn’t move, she looks him in the eye. “You gonna make me do all the work here?”

Seeming to shake himself, eyes suddenly much more focused, Shane shifts, and in one movement both his pants and boxers are puddled around his ankles. His dick is half-hard, and bounces a little at the sudden freedom, bobbing in the air before Daryl’s face.

“Naw,” says Shane, hips jerking forward just a little. “But I think you better get to it.”

Snorting, Daryl flips him a one-fingered salute. Then she spits into the palm of her hand, and wraps her fingers around his cock, sliding up and down the length of it with smooth, steady motions. The foreskin shifts with the movement, and at the head a single drop of pearly-white wetness squeezes out.

Immediately, she leans forward, chasing the taste of come with her tongue, swirling about the head, then down the sides. She traces the veins lining it, and her other hand cups his balls, rolling them and feeling the soft skin of his sac.

With a groan, Shane’s hands bury themselves in her hair, the short length barely enough to get a good grip, and tugs her onward. Enjoying the way his grip pulls at her scalp, Daryl tilts her head and relaxes her throat, then sinks as low as she can on the hard dick in her mouth. When the head hits the back of her throat she swallows around it, then relaxes again to let him sink even deeper, enough so that her nose is nearly brushing his wiry pubic hair.

“Well shit,” Shane says, groaning. “That’s some hidden talent there, Dixon.”

Daryl pulls back, leaving a slick coating of saliva behind, and glares up at Shane. She then shakes the hands from her hair, stands, and pushes the man back hard enough that he stumbles and falls, landing with a ‘thump’ on the single bed, his pants and underwear still caught around one of his ankles. The sudden movement leaves her feeling lightheaded, the alcohol pounding in her veins, but with a shake of her head she steadies.

Shane looks surprised for a minute, then he smiles. “Alright, I get it. Not much for talkin’ in the bedroom. If I promise to be real quiet, will you give me a little show?” He’s got a hand around his dick now, lazily stroking himself, and has shifted into a more comfortable position, reclined on one elbow.

Letting out a snort of derision, Daryl grabs the bottle of bourbon and takes another long pull.

“No,” she says. She then strips off her underwear, and crawls onto the bed. She watches as Shane’s tongue darts out to lick his lips as she straddles him, and keeps her eyes on his expression as she replaces his hand with her own, then lines up, feeling the head of his cock slip between her slick folds, and sinks straight down onto him. Once he is fully sheathing within her, Daryl grinds her hips in little circles, feeling as his cock stretches her wide enough to burn a bit.

Shane’s hands grab her hips, urging her to move, and she lets him lead their pace, working the muscles in her thighs hard to keep up. The slick, hard joining of their bodies is hitting all the right places, and Daryl reaches her hand down to rub at her clit, groaning deep in her throat as her inner walls twitch in anticipation and tighten.

Between the last few months without getting off and the liquor, Daryl finds her orgasm coming on fast and hard. She moves her hand faster over herself, fingertips brushing over Shane’s dick as he pushes into her again and again.

One of Shane’s hands abandons her hip and instead reaches up and buries in her hair, forcing her head back at the same time that he sits up and licks a wet strip up her neck, tongue and teeth working at the delicate skin there. As he does this, he pulls her down bodily and grinds up into her in hard, short thrusts.

She comes in a flash of pleasure that whites out her vision, and stops her lungs from working properly. She can’t tell how long it lasts, but when she finally comes down from it, she’s panting and her hips are twitching languidly with aftershocks of almost painful pleasure streaking through her in bursts.

Shane has pulled back from her neck, and he has a self-congratulating smirk on his lips. She thinks about leaning forward and biting the expression from his lips, when she notices that one of the man’s hands is skirting the bottom of her shirt, lifting the material and smoothing over her skin.

With a growl she grabs his wrist and pulls it away, meeting his eyes. “No. That stays.”

A little scowl creases Shane’s forehead, but then he simply shrugs and says, “Whatever.”

Their movements have slowed, but Daryl can see the flush spreading across Shane’s chest, edging toward his neck, and figures that it’s time to get the show on the road. So she kicks up the speed again, her thighs now burning with strain, and plants her hands behind her on Shane’s thighs for extra leverage.

Before long sweat is trickling down the sides of her face and neck, wetting her hair. Shane has his eyes closed, and is fucking up into her rough, but with the position they’re in he can barely get any force.

When another minute passes and the man doesn’t look any closer to coming, Daryl pants out, “Fuck’s sake, man. You drink too much or somethin’?”

Shane’s eyes snap open, his pupils blown wide and almost pushing all colour out, and his mouth tightens into some parody of a smile. “Not nearly enough,” he says.

Daryl barely hears his words, however, as she suddenly finds herself lifted off of Shane’s dick and flipped around onto her hands and knees. Big hands push her legs apart, then she feels the bed dip as Shane moves in close behind her. She grunts and braces herself with her forearms across the covers with hands gripped tight as she is re-entered in a brutal push that knocks her whole body forward.

Shane sets a merciless pace that has the sound of skin slapping together echoing throughout the room, and Daryl does her best to keep pace with him, rocking back into his body. She can feel another orgasm building, blood pooling in her groin and making her feel a little desperate.

She’s getting into the rhythm again, enjoying how Shane’s cock is rubbing over her G-spot constantly. Laying her shoulders onto the bed, face turned against the covers, she reaches a hand back and rubs over her clit again, fingers slipping in her own fluids. Her breath is coming hard, wetting the material under her, and yet her lungs feel like they aren’t getting enough air.

She’s almost there, hand jerking, and the movement of her hips is forcing them both to move brutally fast, when Shane grabs her waist hard, fingers digging in to hold her still, and twitches against her in a few unrhythmic jerks. A sudden warmth trickles out of her and trails down her leg as Shane pulls away and collapses backward on the bed.

Daryl gasps in a breath, pulls her hand away from herself with a frustrated groan, and rolls off the bed. “God fuckin’ _damnit_ ,” she says, voice an irritated gust of breath.

With one last look at the man laying with an arm thrown over his face, she storms into the bathroom and slams the door behind her, determined to take care of her near-throbbing need to come on her own. She takes the bottle of bourbon with her.

When she eventually stumbles from the bathroom, soaked from her shower and feeling like a bed is the only thing in the world she wants, Shane is gone. All that is left of him is the rumpled bedding, and the ache in Daryl’s muscles and vagina.

With a tired groan, Daryl pulls back the covers and collapses face-first into the bed, arms moving to hug the pillow as sleep overcomes her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will deal with leaving the CDC, and Sophia. This may take a while to get out, as I have one heck of a plot bunny chewing through my brain about this. 
> 
> P.S. omg first time I've EVER written heterosexual sex. This makes me so nervous. Probably because I have too much experience with drunken itch-scratching.

**Author's Note:**

> Further editing and re-writes will occur. I'm putting this out to get a feel for how it is.


End file.
